


[Translation]A Matter of Encounter

by isaakfvkampfer



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Prophetic Dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 03:11:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12050064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isaakfvkampfer/pseuds/isaakfvkampfer
Summary: PastandFutureclash inNow.





	[Translation]A Matter of Encounter

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [相遇问题](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9588359) by [EnVienaHayCuatroEspejos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnVienaHayCuatroEspejos/pseuds/EnVienaHayCuatroEspejos). 



> No beta. If you spot any mistake, plz don't hesitate to let me know.

* * *

On the first day, he dreamt of a desert. The harsh twin suns dominated the day, baking every inch of the land with their rolling waves of heat. They left the night to the icy care of the triplet moons, who bathed the sand in pale light and silence. He rode on winds through countless dunes, stalls of the market, moister farms and stones cracked by Granny's Nightcaps. Sand People with rifles pointed at the canyons stared down at him. He didn’t hide from them, and they weren’t actually aiming at him. In the end, he was faced with a hut. The closed doors didn’t stop him. On the other side, he saw an old man sitting on a semicircle bed carved into the wall, face hidden in the shadows of his hood.

“Still very quiet, aren't you?”

He realized after three seconds that the other man wasn’t talking to him. The words felt more like a flower cast out casually and ended up on top of the dust. Compassion and guilt washed over him, but he didn’t know why.

***

On the third day, he dreamt of stars put out like candles. Numerous lights fleeted away. He tried to catch them with hands, but instead, they escaped through his fingers like sand.

A mass of black fog writhed in the centre of Coruscant; a heart pulsed, every contraction the source of a deep thunderclap. He listened carefully and made out that those were the faraway roars – angry and painful – in company with torrential rain of tears. He could smell of blood and the rusty scent of a newly dug grave. Yet, they were no match for the biles that birthed in the twist of love and hatred. The fog arced its back as a weeping beast did. It shivered and screamed before shooting its obsidian thorns in all directions.

 _No!_ He wanted to shout. _It’s not what you want!_

But he couldn’t make any sound. The sun died out as the black fog snapped open the light’s throat. The quake of its death echoed throughout the galaxy. Then he saw a pair of eyes turning to weep over a sea of boiled lava.

***

On the seventh day, he dreamt of drumbeats and fire. Flames surrounded him but couldn’t touch him. The initial surprise died down when he felt himself melting and dissolving in the cozy brilliance as a river met the sea. Serenity took over his heart. He became a cloud, a pile of earth, a tree rustling in the wind, smoke swirling in the breeze.

Suddenly a gale - or something resembled it – woke him from his slumber. He cast his non- existent eyes to the direction of the blow and saw a young face shone by fire. He felt ill by the sorrow and loss on that face. He wanted to touch those cheeks, but everything was pulling at him, lifting him up and up. His fingertips stretched out uselessly as he was taken away. He felt a heart-wrecking ache and regret. Helplessness.

***

On the tenth day, he dreamt of the death of a Jedi. He bore witness to the fall. Lightsaber pierced through the tall man. His body dropped to the ground like a tree cut down. When it rolled to the side, he was surprised to see his own face. He could make out his young apprentice storming to his side and crashing beside him, hands pillowing his head. He was weeping.

“No...”

He wanted to say something to comfort his student as he had done every time in the past, because every sorrow on that bright young face had been a blow to his heart. He couldn’t though. He used up all his charms just like the young man who was wrapping him in his arms.

***

Qui-Gon Jinn opened his eyes. The wound on his stomach shot agony through his body, and he was choking on his own blood. Obi-Wan’s pain-drenched face was printed on his vision that was on the edge of letting the darkness devour itself.

“No...”

The young man’s eyes begged in desperate, but Qui-Gon could do nothing. He knew he was going to die and it only granted him one last chance to entrust the most important things.

“Promise me you will train the boy.”

He had prepared to say more. As in the last moment, every point was finally linked to another, all ambiguous prophetic dreams finally unveiled. He had walked from the past and met the future in flashback, which converged in one nexus – his death.

Something cruel could exist under the veil.

Qui-Gon felt a surge of regret and guilt. He still had so much to say – _I’m sorry to leave you alone; I am sorry to give you a future tainted by pain_ – but his life force had begun to dissolve. His trembling hand reached out, touching Obi-Wan’s cheek, the last tenderness and comfort. His young man chocked back a sob, cold tears dropping on his cold fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> Sep. 10th is Teacher's Day in China, I guess it's only fitting I post this translation today (I swear it was not intended).


End file.
